


They Who Do Dare Dream

by seabird



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seabird/pseuds/seabird
Summary: Sergio is always the first one to look away, lest he risk losing himself in the stormy haze of Geri's eyes; somehow violence and utter devotion tangled together, beautiful and dangerous like the eye of a storm itself.





	They Who Do Dare Dream

It was just a kiss, high on the greatest of victories and one drink too many. 

*

Or so the both of them would go on to justify it later on, anyways. 

*

Sergio in this sweet spot where drunk headaches gave way to sleepy calm, and oh Iker and his worried puppy eyes were cute and all, but, come on, it was just some fun, and hey, who would say no to some sweet sexy times.

No strings attached, cross his heart, hope to die, or so he'd swear.

*

Geri to a Carles who was, well, not furious, not exactly. Just not shy to voice his concerns. Never that.

*

The next time they meet, it is as rivals more bitter than ever, or so it feels. 

*

It may be Piqué who ends up on his knees in the end, but when he looks up, meets Sergio's gaze, oh well. 

*

It's the eye of every storm conceivable, all mixed up with the hue of soft pastels on an ocean at dawn, and it's-

*

-too close, too damned close for comfort. Once Sese's breathe evens out, Geri wants, tries, to sneak away. 

(A hint of a sense of inevitable of loss on his lips and yet he can almost justify this to himself. This attempt to sneak away, leave before it will be too damned late to save the both of them - not only for tonight, for all the dawns yet to follow; heartbreak almost inevitable the fallout of whatever this may be)

Geri tries, fails, to not allow to give in to the pastel sweet lights of morning painting colours ever more so gentle onto that soft. sleepy smile he should be ashamed to adore.

Leaving should be a easy, even in night's darkest blue -

Sese, however, stirrs in his slumber, wraps his arms just a little tighter around – the fucking blanket, of all things -, and oh-

Staying a little while seems to not be the worst idea in the world anymore.

*

Every time they meet after, it's when their teams meet or the National Team comes calling.

It's not an easy balance, never that, but one that ends in touches more sweet, a reluctance to leave first thing in the greyish rose of dawn when that's all whatever this shameful little secret of theirs may deserve (or maybe it's just easier to pretend than to deal with whatever the fallout might be if it was anyithing more than that...). 

*

And while scenarios might change, outcomes and positions being reversed and reinvented and heartbreak and loss happen, they both become experts in getting back up, finding their footing again, no matter what.

There are no other choices, after all.

Not if they dare dream of holding on to that fragile thing they don't even dare name.

Never quite peace, but maybe-

 

*

Some things, though, stay as they were that night which feels a lifetime away and still oh so ever close.

*

Sergio is always the first one to look away, lest he risk losing himself in the stormy haze of Geri's eyes; somehow violence and utter devotion tangled together, beautiful and dangerous like the eye of a storm itself. 

Or maybe something closer to the epicenter of a hurricane. 

*

Some things seem to never change, like how neither of them ever quite seems to be able to come up with the right words. 

*

Ever so softer touches, harsh almost-bites turned something much sweeter, reluctance to leave in the grey hours of morning when before being gone in the dark of night was an objective – dead giveaways they should have been. Hindsight, and all that..

*

There may or may not have been a moment Puyi lost his calm, in the privacy of a locker room or some remote little restaurant tucked far away in the mountains or in his kitchen over shared drinks. Maybe more than once, over all these years.

"Live a little, Capi" was sound advice on it's own. 

Maybe never so much when countered with something along the lines of "don't stop playing until you hear a fucking whistle" and even less so with "if you aren't actively looking to get your heart broken, be honest or put an end to whatever this is between you and-"

*

There are miss-steps along the way, of course there are. 

*

There are moments when hatred and violence and hurt seem to be the only language they both seem to understand, on the pitch or in the direct aftermath; a tackle gone wrong, a foul just so on the other side of too harsh, a result too damned close for comfort.

*

(There is Leo, hugging Geri oh so tight, whispering words which feel like absolution.

There is quitting the National Team in a fit of anger and Sergio kissing him harder than maybe ever before. Harsh, angry and then something else neither of them dares name; that makes Geri want to sink on his knees and beg for forgiveness and then just spill all these thoughts he did not even dare whisper ever before. 

A whisper, almost like a prayer, "don't you dare say sorry"

Puyi, so very glad to wrap his arms around Geri and concede he was wrong.)

*

There are miss-steps along the way, of course there are.

* 

And still, each and every one seems so utterly, undoubtedly worth it in that moment when Sergio threads his fingers through Geri's hair after Madrid's won, and for once Geri relaxes, if even ever so slightly and it very well feels like the greatest victory of them all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first exercise to try and get back to writing expanded a bit and a first attempt at writing in English, so apologies for any mistakes!


End file.
